Maktoob

I was written...
That I will meet a man, in a desert. A man from a tribe...
And it was written that he will embrace me...
A man from nomad's tribe, whose ancestors left the Valley and migrated to the west, carrying their last name as a sign of their journey and their clan. And they will recognize themselves through this last name.
And to the child it was given the name of Victory.
He carried, deep  in his blood, journeys of his ancestors and their remembrance of mountain peaks, of lakes and winds. He carried in his blood thirst that will never be slaked.
It was written...
That I will leave my previous life and everything I knew, and I will follow. I will roam with him, untill his soul finds a place to stay. I will follow... Untill I find for his soul a water of life...
It was written that I will run in this desert, seven times back and forth in the scorching heat, looking for the water for his thirst and I will cry out loud to the Lord to help me save this man from his thirst...